


Where We Belong

by ChilledLime



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Deity! Mark, M/M, Mark is basically Annus but with his personality intact, Medieval, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Mark, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Strangers to Lovers, petty crimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29052411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChilledLime/pseuds/ChilledLime
Summary: The man was beautiful, silky black hair pulled into a small bun, dressed in embroidered white tunics and gold jewelry.So why didn't he stick around?
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Where We Belong

**Author's Note:**

> yeah   
> sorry there's no Mark in this chapter, promise he'll be in the next one  
> exposition is important

Silver keys jingled in Ethan’s pocket as he walked, tunic catching against the crisp breeze. His boots crunched against the gravel pathway, sounding louder than it actually was due to the silence of everything else. Sun having yet risen, the town was blanketed in a dim light, not another soul to be seen.

The walk began like clockwork, getting up far before dawn, throwing together a breakfast suitable to last him for a few hours, and trudging out into the dark. While some would’ve carried a lantern, Ethan preferred to disappear into the night. 

Their village was small, nestled on the outskirts of a much larger settlement. His daily route took him through fields and into the town, where people were always awake. 

As gravel bled into dirt, the fields of flowers and plants blew onto the track, brushing against his legs. He let a hand reach into the stalks, rustling them as he walked. The moon sat heavy on the horizon, illuminating his path to the bright dots in the distance. 

It was those times he cherished, in between the writing and the stealing and the few hours spent at home; walking through the plains and looking up at the fading stars. Ethan had always wondered what was up there, lurking just out of sight, looking down at the tiny humans below. 

He’d been told stories as a child of the gods and goddesses, shrines and churches kept pristine in their honor; but none of them had called to him. He had no interest giving his devotion to the beings so high above him, just to earn a sliver of their favor. 

Ethan still dreamt, though. 

Before he realized it, rocks were back under his feet, and the wooden buildings of the town surrounded him once more. 

A few passerby's greeted him, as they walked through the streets and wound around carts. The boy was confident enough to avoid running into anything, winding through the steadily growing crowd and into the place where he worked. 

Pulling out the keys, he slipped them into the lock and opened his personal chamber. Books and tapestries littered the shelves, desk, and floor, barely leaving room for him to walk. Ethan grimaced at the mess, telling himself he’d clean it up eventually.

The job of a scribe was ever important, and ever draining. His fingers had faint calluses from holding the feathered pen all day, back aching by the end of every shift. He could always hear the talking of the other scribes through the walls, quiet being a luxury he couldn’t yet afford. 

“Hey there,” A head poked through his door, twinkling brown eyes peering at him. 

Ethan set down his pen, stretching his legs out under the table. “Lunch break already?” His brain felt foggy from staring at the paper in the harsh lighting, and his eyes were dry from not blinking enough.

“You know it,” Amy hummed, pushing it open the rest of the way and stepping inside, easily stepping over the discarded papers. “Lost track of time again, huh?”

He nodded, getting up and gingerly pushing in his chair. “It’s just draining busywork. Without a clock on the wall and you, I’d probably end up staying here all night.” 

The boy followed her out of the room, letting her lead him into the streets. “What’re you feelin’ like today?” He asked, looking around at the carts possessing freshly grown fruit and vegetables. When the shopkeeper looked away, he snagged a pear and stuffed it into his bag, ignoring the disapproving glare from Amy. 

"Probably the usual," She shrugged, heading in the direction of the tavern they ate at a few days every week. It sat on the other side of town, other scribes and workers heading the same direction as them. 

Although it was busy, the wait was short, and they managed to get inside in less than five minutes - seated near the back where there were still tables open. 

After they had gotten their orders placed, Amy turned to him. “You’re doing it more often.”

“Doing what?” But Ethan knew exactly what she was talking about. 

“You know,” She waved her hand in the direction of his bag that harbored the stolen fruit. “Even during the day Ethan,  _ really?”  _

He raised up his hands defensively, not meeting her eyes. She had never approved of his activities that kept his life interesting.

“It could be worse?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, that same disapproving look on her face she always wore when he did stuff like that. “If you’re going to do it, at least don’t do it during the daylight hours when you’d be easily caught.”

At the end of the day, she still cared for him - childhood friends will do that to someone.

Ethan sighed, tracing his fingers along the unpolished wood. “I know, I know.” He ran the hand through his hair, glancing out of the window. “It’s just so boring, doing the same thing every goddamn day.” 

Their stew was set down in front of them, steam rising from the pale bowls. 

Amy took hers, giving it a quick blow to dispel the heat. “I know it is, but our job is important. If they found out..”

He grimaced at the thought, taking a bite of his own food. “They won’t find out, ‘s not like I’m taking gold ingots or somethin’.” 

She shook her head tiredly. “Don’t be too reckless, okay?”

“Okay.”

They got back just before the hour chimed, Amy wishing him well and heading back into her own workspace. 

Ethan stood among the scrolls, bending down and plucking one from the floor. He was met with his own messy handwriting, somehow not completely incomprehensible. He read a few lines, before he couldn’t stand it anymore and carefully tossed it back into the pile it formerly resided in.

Even the writing topics were always the same: church sessions, inventory of product, etc. It almost made his skin crawl. 

It was all a pattern. Everything he did was fit into the neat little cog of society, the need for creative expression be damned. Being a child was easier, when they were allowed to run through the streets and make mistakes, only chastised for getting home after dark.

His nails dug into his palm, a hand he didn’t know he was gripping.

Ethan had thought about running away  _ so  _ many times, it wasn’t funny anymore. His attachments kept him rooted, his family and friends, hell - even the friendly stray that would visit him on the way home. 

He didn’t want to leave them. 

He just wanted something else.

That’s how he had gotten into petty thievery in the first place, the rush of adrenaline from stealing a shiny silver ring or food he didn’t feel like paying for in the first place. At least it was  _ something.  _

But he really, really didn’t want to die in the old town. 

* * *

When dusk settled among the houses, he could finally leave, going out into the grass and waiting until night had fully emerged. 

After dark had enveloped the large town, Ethan snuck around the main entrance and hopped up onto a few crates behind a building. He had left his scribe coat out in the field to be retrieved later, only left in a dark tunic and pants. Poking his head out from behind the wall, he watched as someone with more expensive tastes meandered by. 

Most of their presumed valuables were hidden, except for a gold watch tucked into their bag, the clasp just barely poking out. 

Ethan pushed himself off of the crates, pressing himself against the wall and creeping forward. 

The familiar pump of adrenaline was kicking in, a pleasant floaty feeling. 

They turned their back to where he was hiding, giving Ethan just enough time to stretch his arm out and retrieve the item. 

By the time they had looked back in his direction, he was already back behind the place. 

He flipped open the watch, a soft ticking sound drifting through the air. 

One down, many to go.

Over the course of the night, he had managed to get a few more treasures. An expensive looking scarf he’d never wear in public, a pair of silver keys with pleasant engravings, and a large loaf of bread. 

Not his best night, but not his worst.

The moon was still high in the sky as he headed down the path back home, clouds occasionally drifting over and obscuring his light. 

He’d long since stopped feeling guilty over his nightly excursions. Justifying it was a little harder, but Ethan settled to ignore the occasional feelings of regret instead. 

The stray - he had named Spencer - soon joined him on the path, trotting happily next to him. Ethan reached down to scratch the top of his head, humming nothings as the deep blue shadows of houses grew closer, and the grass shortened. 

As soon as he entered the village, Spencer had gone, disappearing back into the fields. 

When he had gotten settled in his house, Ethan pulled out the findings of the night, ripping off a small piece of bread and eating it.

The scarf was added to the small closet in his bedroom, and the keys were added to the jewelry drawer. On occasion he’d sort through the belongings, reorganizing them to his current liking; it served to keep his brain occupied in the later hours when he couldn’t sleep. 

It went on like that for weeks, as it had gone on for weeks before - until he met the man draped in white. 

**Author's Note:**

> [find me on tumblr](https://chilledlime.tumblr.com/)


End file.
